


Santa Doesn't Wear Eyeliner

by crossroadswrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Christmas, Christmas Sweaters, Fluff, Giveaway fic, Jock!Dean, M/M, Secret Santa, artist!Cas, because no one can stop me, punk!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is a jock, Cas is a punk and they're each other's Secret Santa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santa Doesn't Wear Eyeliner

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a little christmas giveaway I had going on tumble, but because I am absolute trash I've only got time to post it now.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~and let's ignore the fact I still have two more things to write~~
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways! Enjoy and happy incredibly late Christmas and a merry New Year

This year, their too perky English teacher decided that to spread some holiday cheer they should do an “exchange of gifts! Come on guys! Secret Santa! It’ll be fun!”

Dean heavily suspects that she’s channeling her inner Zooey Deschanel in _New Girl_.

As soon as the words leave her mouth you can hear the collective groan of commiseration going through the class.

Everyone knows that Secret Santa sucks. It’s lame and a too good excuse for kids to get gag gifts so they can make fun of others. Dean will admit that he’s included in that group of kids.

Worse things could happen, though. Like say, your crush getting your name and giving you something to make fun of you.

Dean’s eyes dart to where Castiel is sitting, looking bored and like he has better things to do, like, for example, rebel against a big corporation and set fire to something.

The teacher shakes her pencil case with each students’ name is Cas’ face with a beam.

Castiel reaches inside and takes a piece of paper, unfolding it carefully with expert fingers – he has really nice hands wow, Dean can see himself doing _things_ with those hands – and promptly frowning at it.

“Dean,” the teacher appears out of fucking nowhere and Dean totally doesn’t almost jump out of his chair. Shut _up_ , Benny!

Dean tries to give her a smile, reaching into the pencil case and drawing out a name.

He unfolds it carefully and looks down at the name. Blinks at it once, twice.

The name doesn’t change, stares right back at him.

 _Castiel_.

Benny looks over Dean’s shoulder and shakes his head, “Oh, brother. How are you going to play this?”

Dean crumples the name in his hand and shoves it in his letterman jacket.

“What do you mean how am I going to play this. I’m buying him something and giving it to him. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

Benny gives him his patented _I’m tired of your bullshit_ look, “Sugar, I meant if you were going to buy him something to reveal your embarrassing middle grade crush on him.”

“Don’t call me that. And I don’t have a crush.”

“And my accent is from her majesty’s the queen’s British. What other bullshit are we gonna say?”

“I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

“Your momma thought you needed a good influence in your life.”

Dean snorts, “You’re hilarious, Benny.”

“Don’t run away from the conversation now. What are you gonna do?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably, glances up again at Cas who’s doodling in the margins of his notebook.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You better figure it out then.”

Dean gives him a flat look, “Thanks Benny that was really helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” Benny offers earnestly.

Dean needs new friends.

«»

He decides to take a chance and go with the _I have a crush on you so here’s this gift_ option, Dean even goes to the trouble of asking his mom to help him wrap the present so it looks neat and pretty for Cas

Mary gives him a knowing smile and asks, “Is this for that boy you’ve been crushing on since last year?”

Dean flushes, “Mom.”

“So that’s a yes. Good on you, honey,” she kisses his cheek, “I’m proud of you. Taking action. Doin’ it like a true Campbell.”

“Stop feeding the kid lies, Mary,” his Dad appears out of nowhere and claps Dean on the back making him tense up, “That’s all Winchester blood.”

Mom snorts, “Sure it is, sweetheart.”

Dad kisses her cheek and looks down at the gift he’s wrapping. It’s simple enough. A leather-bound little blank notebook with angel wings imprinted in the front like the ones Dean caught a glimpse of tattooed on Cas’ back. Inside, on the very first page there’s a little slip of paper with tickets for the art gallery in town because he knows how bad Cas likes drawing and how his family disapproves of that.

Well, according to what Dean gathered most of his family disapproves of his entire being. Which sucks. But then again, everyone has their shit at home.

Dean’s shit is-

“Is that for _that_ boy?” John’s hand tightens on Dean’s neck.

-this.

His father was brought up by his grandfather, Dean’s great-grandfather, thought the old ways that men just mustn’t lay with men.

It’s been hard to get him to let that go. Mom helps because his Mom is awesome.

“John!” she chastises, “That’s none of your business. We’ve talked about this.”

His Dad’s hand relaxes, “Fine,” he says moodily, “Not that I approve of it, but I’ve come to accept it. You’re my son. I won’t something like _this_ get in the way.”

Dean finally relaxes, dares to look his Dad in the eyes, “Thanks Dad.”

“But if you start slackin’ off on the field I’ll tell that Casteel-

“Castiel.”

“-how things work.”

“Yes, sir,” he agrees readily.

It’s not even that his Dad is obsessed with Dean being the popular jock type – okay it’s a little bit of that too – it’s that Dean has his entire college future riding on a sports scholarship.

“Alright then. When you’re finished come help me in the garage.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mom passes a hand through his hair, petting him like Dean secretly loves, “I told you he’d come around.”

“He just came around ‘cause you’re badass, Mom.”

Mary snorts, with a smug little smile, “Damn right.”

«»

“You’re sweatin’ through your tacky Christmas sweater, sugar.”

“Shut the fuck up, Benny. My grandma knitted me this sweater.”

“Aww, aren’t you precious. ‘Lo and Behold. Dean Winchester who can beat up two guys at once, has the best record as a batter this school’s seen in a decade, can stare down seniors, cowered by a little gift giving.”

“Henricksen,” Dean looks up, “are you even in this class?”

He snorts, “I have a free period. And a little birdy told me that you’re finally doing something about your big fat gay crash on resident punk kid, so I’ve come to watch.”

“I’m disowning both of you,” he decides, “and if this goes sideways I’m running to Mexico and drowning my sorries in tortillas.”

“Dramatic much, Winchester.”

“Shut _up_. Don’t you have a girlfriend to go make out with or something?”

“She’s in class. Not everyone can be in most of the same classes as our crushes.”

“I will break your face.”

“Mr. Winchester,” his teacher chirps happily, clapping her hands together, Dean gets a little blindsided by her neon green sweater with horrible, nightmare inducing kittens on it, “please don’t promise to break anyone’s face in my class. Plausible deniability. And I do believe that you’re not in this particular class Mr. Henricksen. Out you go,” she beams.

Oh God, Dean half wants to take her to the puppy shelter to see the sick dogs to kick her down a notch. That’s too much happiness for him to handle.

English teacher which name Dean never bothered to learn takes a big red bag out of under her desk and goes desk to desk telling everyone to just dump their presents inside.

Dean looks over at Cas who wrapped his gift in newspaper – he receives a headshake and a disappointed look from their teacher for it – and finds him looking intently back at Dean, like he can look into his very soul.

Dean really wishes he didn’t wear eyeliner because it just makes his eyes _pop_ and if Dean can’t handle those baby blues on a normal day, then there’s no hope for him when they look like _that_ really.

He offers Cas a little awkward wave and the other boy squints suspiciously at him before turning back to the front of class.

 _Gosh you’re such a dork,_ he hears a voice that sounds suspiciously like Sam tell him.

He can almost see his little brother rolling his eyes at him and telling him to just go for it, before squeaking and telling Dean to stop messing with his precious hair.

He takes a deep breath and decides to go for broke ripping a little piece of paper from his notebook and writing.

 _Do you like_ like _me?_

__ Yes_

__ No_

__ Please move to Mexico and die in a tortilla induced comma_

_x Dean_

Quickly, he pries the tape out to shove the little slip of paper inside before he tapes the wrapping paper back again.

The teacher passes and he shoves the gift inside the bag before he can regret it.

“I’m changing my name to Pepito when I move to Mexico.”

Benny pats his shoulder sympathetically.

It takes him approximately 0.69 seconds to start second guessing himself.

Ugh, what was he thinking? Cas is going to laugh in his face. He’s just a dumb baseball player. Why would Cas ever want to be with him. Cas has an unbelievable GPA, he’s well read, his eyes are made of sapphires and he probably feeds off of rainbows and Fall Out Boy songs because he’s a beautiful paradox wrapped in tight jeans that display a great ass like that.

Oh God. He should get it back before Cas reads it. Cas doesn’t even know Dean calls him Cas in his head. Because Dean is a chicken shit and Cas is amazing and intimidating and wears eyeliner and he’s possibly one of the most gorgeous things ever.

Well then. He’s gonna be named Pepito Cruz and he’s going to smuggle heroin when he goes to Mexico.

Don’t look at him like that he’ll need to find money to buy his tortillas.

“Dean Winchester,” the teacher announces giving him a- newspaper wrapped box.

Dean’s heart stops.

Cas is going to give him something probably making fun of how dumb Dean is. This just got a whole lot worse.

He carefully unwraps it, half afraid to see just what it is and then he just blinks dumbly down at it.

It’s Dean’s necklace.

The one he lost just last week somewhere on school grounds and was completely devastated by it. Next to it there’s a little key ring with a Chevrolet Impala merrily dangling from it and a carefully folded paper underneath.

Dean carefully pulls the paper out and unfolds it and _wow that’s absolutely gorgeous._

It’s him, every line carefully drawn and the entire thing looks more like a photograph than anything else. He’s leaning back against his Dad’s car, hands in his pockets and smiling.

Below Castiel wrote something in his careful, too pretty handwriting.

_Dean,_

_I found your necklace last week and was going to give you, but after Mrs. Emily said we were doing the gift exchange I thought this would be better. I hope you don’t mind._

_Have a nice Christmas._

The bell rings and apparently-Mrs.-Emily tells them to have a merry Christmas and get out of her class.

Dean looks up, mouth half open to call for Cas only to see he’s not there anymore.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t make your boy wait long,” Benny advises.

“How do you know he’s waiting for me?”

Benny looks at him like he’s the dumbest bitch and shakes his head, getting his stuff and leaving Dean there.

He takes two seconds to breathe deeply before he gets up and heads outside and his promptly thrown into the lockers. By Castiel. _Great_.

“Are you making fun of me?” he asks harshly.

“What?”

Cas waves the little slip of paper Dean shoved in there in the last possible second.

“Oh,” he looks down, can’t really handle Cas’ baby blues for the blow that is coming, “no, I’m really not. But I get it that you don’t umpf-“

Castiel is kissing him. On the lips. With his mouth.

_Holy. Shit. It’s a Christmas miracle._

Dean kisses him back as best as he can over his shock, Castiel barely allowing it before he pulls back.

“Good. Here,” he passes the paper over at Dean and darts in to kiss his cheek, flushing slightly, “See you tomorrow then, Dean.”

He walks out and Dean’s just there, slumped against the lockers without knowing what just happened but feeling like the appropriate reaction would be to fistpump like that dude in _The Breakfast Club_.

He carefully unfolds the crumpled paper.

 _Do you like_ like _me?_

__ Yes_

__ No_

__ ~~Please move to Mexico and die in a tortilla induced comma~~ ????_

_ X  _ _We’re going to the art museum together and making out behind the exhibits until someone kicks us out tomorrow at four_

_x Dean <3 Castiel_


End file.
